I was raised as a careful Yankee — my father ’s people were from small town and rural New England . I turn off the visible radiation as I bequeath a elbow room ; take 3 second , scotch showers ; and start my garden plants from seed .
Yet I inherit very different impulses from my mother ’s side of the fellowship . In particular , I spent a lot of my boyhood relishing the flamboyance of my maternal grandfather , a westerly excavation applied scientist who drive a glittering gold Cadillac the size of a spaceship , loved any self-justification for giving presents , and settled backyard contravention with the wildlife with a single , just placed bullet .
This duality is why I so love this time of year . By now , my garden is full of the vegetable craw I started from seed in my basement in the Spring . I ’ve get rows and rows of noodle and beets , scallion , sprawls of squashes , lavender and nasturtiums , herbs , and side - by - side patches of St. Basil and tomato . Except for the love apple , which I ordered as grafted seedlings because they execute better in my verticillium infested soil , I begin all of these plantings from seeds that I shook out of paper packets .
It exult the Yankee side of my someone when my married woman Suzanne tells me , as she did this weekend , that she just picked a bushel of beans . I know that all of that nutrition sprang from a unmarried , four - dollar - and - ten - cent parcel . A return on investment that would satisfy any Yankee . And when Suzanne was n’t picking bean plant yesterday she was piling up acorn squash , cuke , and zucchinis . Several of the latter had been veil under the leaves until they accomplish the attribute of green - striped zeppelin . We plunk most of our zucchinis when they are fashionably slender and small , but I must squeal to a impuissance for the grown , curvaceous one , the one with a figure the guys on the corner would describe approvingly as “ stocky ” .
In particular , I ’ve come up that the heirloom Italian zucchini cultivar , ‘ Costata Romanesco , ’ has a figure that keeps its texture and flavor even into obesity . I split these monstrosity with a chef ’s tongue , trump out the seed , stuff them with sausage meat we get from a farmer down the road , souse them with tomato sauce , and broil until tender .
In short , I love the glut of this time of year . I roll in the hay it not only because it fill our thorax Deepfreeze , but also because it provides lots of material for giveaway . I call up of my gramps when I fill the back seat of my car with green groceries and get down to the local food pantry to portion out . Last year I delivered 4 Napa shekels that together press in at 16 lbs . Of of course I could deliver even more if I take a monster Cadillac . But that ’s not my vogue .
